Baby Dog Can't Walk
Baby the morning after his best friend, Buddy, died.
My ex-husband and I lived on five acres of forest land in Texas. It had a running stream, butterflies, deer--it was paradise, and so easy to take in rescue animals and care for them.
We moved briefly to New Mexico where I fell and was left with a traumatic brain injury. When we decided to return to Colorado to live closer to our children I was thrilled. The plan was to move onto a small farm and add some goats and chickens to the mix, but the day we moved, he abandoned me with ten animals in a cabin in the mountains.
In addition to the brain injury I also have a disease called Valley Fever, contracted by inhaling a fungus during our move. It has disemminated to other parts of my body.
Right now, my three dogs are considered unadoptable because of their health issues, and I am struggling to support them because of mine. I want to help Baby walk again and stabilize my two older dogs for their own security. They've earned my protection. 
This photo was taken the night I found Baby Dog in the desert. He looked so sad.
This is Baby. Baby wants to walk again. He used to run every day. He found me in the New Mexico desert where he was abandoned and, I suspect, used as target practice--a common problem in New Mexico. I sensed that someone, or something, was watching us and I was afraid it was coyotes so I decided not to walk the dogs and prepared to drive away. Then Baby Dog crawled out from beneath the sagebrush. He was so skinny I could see his ribs. I gave him some water. He literally threw himself on his back by my truck tires to prevent me from driving away without him and I started to cry. He was so desperate, so afraid.
According to his vet, he survived animal predators by using scented plants for his toilet, thus hiding his own scent. He is a remarkably intelligent dog and a survivor.
Now, due to a fatty tumor beneath his arm pit, he can barely walk. My beautiful dog who used to dance for his food rarely stands on his feet anymore. 
The Baby Dance. Baby uesd to dance like this every day when I fed him. Then suddenly, he couldn't stand.
The tumor is causing his paw to curve inward and it is painful for him. I found a veterinarian willing to do the surgery to remove the tumor, but every time I managed to save the money for his surgery another one of my animal died (which I will explain below). It's been a difficult and painful year for all of us.
Surgery is expensive, even with a vet willing to give a discount to save my dog. Without the surgery, he will eventually lose the use of his leg. If something happens to me, he will lose much more.
I currently have both arms in casts and cannot take Baby anywhere, even to the vet's office, without lifting him into my truck. He has exceptionally short legs and weighs 100 pounds. He needs the surgery so he can exercise again, lose weight, and live his life. 
This is the tumor beneath baby's arm. When he lies down it pushes his arm forward.
As he grows older and less able to get around, I grow older, too, and if something happens to me, the chances that he will be taken care of in the way that he deserves disappear. 
This is Chewy the Chewchewcabra. This photo was taken the night of the storm.
Chewy has a heart murmur. He is very sick, but you can't tell. He still plays with his food, cuddles with the cats, and jumps on the "big dogs" to let them know that on the inside, he's as big and fierce as any dog around.
Chewy was abandoned in the Texan forest and was found hiding beneath my truck during a natural disaster warning. I later learned he tried to find shelter at many houses. One person actually chased him off by kicking him and throwing rocks at his head.
Chewy is a special animal. He can "smell" when another animal or human is sick and he cries, barks, does whatever he needs to do to draw attention to the problem. Such an odd situation--he fights so hard to protect his pack, and yet, when I was first told he has a heart murmur I was led to the "Goodbye Room" at the vet's office and told it would be best to "put him down."
Chewy smiles all the time, even when he's sleeping.
Chewy didn't want to be put down. He wanted to sit on my lap, smile (he smiles a lot) and wag his tail. I left the vet's office with Chewy in my arms and called a holistic practitioner from the parking lot. She agreed to see him. She ordered x-rays, blood tests, and found that Chewy had a chest infection and needed antibiotics. Six months later, Chewy is still with me, smiling and wagging his tail.
Unfortunately, I am on a fixed income. Chewy is an older dog and sick, and consdered "unadoptable." He also endured great tragedy recently along with all of my fur-animals, and went through a period of depression.
Chewy snuggling with his best friend, Buddy.
We need each other and I will do anything to save Chewy. His doctor believes he needs another set of x-rays and blood tests. His medication costs me between 75 and 100 dollars per month. I realize he doesn't have much time left, but he is happy and comfortable now and his vet agrees that choosing the Rainbow Bridge due to financial struggles does not make sense--she recommended this campaign. Chewy deserves help. 
Buddy and Holly, brother and sister, were literally inseperable right up to the night he died.
Holly is a 16 year old chocolate lab who's been fighting cancer for three years. Her brother, Buddy, was poisoned by malicious teenagers last year who parked in front of my house "barking" at me and my granddaughter, shouting "how's the dog" and "Dead Dog Darla!' and bragging about their psychopathic act of cruelty as we struggled to get in the front door.
We immediately realized the "Dead Dog Darla" comments were about Buddy, who was already beyond saving by the time we arrived home. He died in my granddaughter's arms while I was on the phone begging a vet tech to call the veterinarian. I called every half hour and the emergency veterinarian (who I'd never met before) kept insisting "he just ate something bad" and refused to get out of bed and do her job. She finally arrived for work at four in the morning and told me to bring Buddy in just as Buddy shoved the cat off his bed with his nose and crawled in beside his sister, Holly. Buddy sighed deeply then passed away.
Buddy's killer kicked the fence in on his side of the house. He never tried to hide the vandalism or acts of cruelty. I begged the police for help and they did nothing. They said it was a neighborhood issue and my neighbor was protected by Freedom of Speech (Don't bother with the logic--I couldn't figure that one out, either). I stood in my side yard one afternoon and watched my neighbor's son kick in the side of my truck with his big boots as he shouted, "Let her call the police! I'll plead the Fifth!"
We don't know how or when he poisoned Buddy--I was at my grandchildren's school performance for hours that night--but we do know who was responsible. They bragged about it with pride. (Psychologists believe that teenagers who harm and kill animals are showing signs of being future serial killers).
My animals were only allowed outside long enough to go to the bathroom. It only takes a second to stick a piece of poisoned food through a hole in the fence, but after Buddy's death all of the dogs showed signs of trauma. Even the rabbits continuously kicked their hutches, showing signs of fear. The dogs watched the fence as if they knew someone dangerous was on the other side--and he was.
One night, my neighbor came home while I was in the backyard working. He opened the back door and shouted his son's name, asking why he was by the fence. The teen stood up. He was a few feet away from me on the opposite side of the fence and I never knew. He shouted to his father that I was photographing him all afternoon. Instead of asking his son why his son was crouching by the fence or why the teenager did not simply go inside his house, the father--the instigator of the neighborhood mobbing--ran inside, grabbed his camera, leaned over the fence so he was halfway in my yard and repeatedly photographed me as I ran through my yard trying to collect my terrified animals.
In the chaos, I fell on my back and was injured--again. My camera broke into pieces. While I was waiting for a replacement, my neighbor (who was actually angry with me because I told him I couldn't afford to hire him to mow my lawn) told people in the neighborhood that he "saw" me climbing fences and photographing my neighbors in their houses--disabled and in a back brace with a broken camera. He convinced numerous neighbors to harass me in what is called a "mobbing."
One local police officer read the reports when I called for help. He was told not to respond, that it was a neighborhood issue, but he called me anyway. He told me a similar story--that he was harassed because his neighbor didn't like police officers. His entire family was harassed and traumatized and his precious dog was poisoned. He told me I had to move because the harassment would not stop until the instigator did something terrible, like killing my pets, traumatizing my family, or worse. This was five days before Buddy was poisoned, and a week before my rabbit, Katie, was poisoned. The incident left all of my animals--and my grandchildren--traumatized. 
Buddy never left his sister's side, or mine. Buddy was trained as a service dog. He stood by my side, his head beneath my hand, and followed me everywhere I went.
Animals do grieve. They experience trauma. It is horrible to watch. When Buddy died, Holly cried. Baby howled. Chewy jumped on Buddy's chest, barking and crying, trying to bring him back. The cat walked in circles around him, confused.
All of my animals became sick, and Niblet, my 19 year old cat, died a few months later--the vet never did figure out why. It would do no good to explain these things to the teenager and his father who harrassed me so horrible because sociopaths and psychopaths do not feel emotions. They recognize emotions in others and immitate emotions, but they don't feel them. 
Niblet, three years ago, was strong and healthy until the night Buddy died.
When we rescued Buddy and Holly everyone told me "If one of them ever dies, the other will die soon after." That didn't happen. Holly is still by my side every time I walk into the yard, though it's difficult for her to take our nightly walks now due to her arthritis and I also have to lift her into my truck, which I can no longer do alone. I need a ramp so she can get in and out of the truck without injury to one or both of us. 
Buddy, Chewy and Holly soaking up the Texas sunshine.
1) With my illness, Holly's arthritis and Baby's leg issue I need a ramp to help my dogs get into my truck so I can take them to the vet.
2) Baby needs an expensive surgery and medications or he will lose the use of his leg and literally spend the rest of his life lying on his bed. 
In this photo you can see Baby's leg turning inward. If he doesn't have surgery soon his leg will deform. Baby's leg is my main priority right now.
3) Chewy needs his medications so he can continue to live out the rest of his days comfortably. He is stable now, but his medication is expensive. I just need help with Chewy while I take care of Baby and his recovery.
4) Holly is also on medication. She takes antibiotics, steroids, and antihistimine every time a tumor shows up and she's still going strong. She is happy, loving, always by my side like her brother used to be. I need help with her medications until Baby recovers and a ramp for my truck to help her get in and out when she needs to go to the vet. 
Chewy Loved to Run in the New Mexico Desert. His nickname is "The Chewchewcabra."
The amount on this campaign is just an estimate--I had to put something down. I know how much the surgery and medications cost, but the truth is, every donation, no matter how small, helps.
When people call or send me a message and tell me their landlord is about to evict them or they're broke and need to sell books to buy groceries, or need help of any kind, I send money, donate, help in any way I can because I know every little bit helps, and because I know that's what it means to show compassion and I want to be a compassionate person. It is my goal in life. I want to forgive and move on, and to teach my grandchildren to do the same, but this takes time, and with all of my dogs now struggling it is a daily reminder of Buddy and Katie and our loss. It hasn't been that long, and healing takes time, but some day we will be able to forgive--not for the sake of the people who harmed us. That would be futile--they have no conscience. But for our ability to move on with our lives. It is even more difficult, though, now that all of the dogs are sick--a constant reminder.
No one owes me, but I am asking for help if you can. I'm not asking anyone to pay for any of these items, I'm asking for a little bit of help from anyone who can help a little bit. It is the accumulation of donations from family and friends that accomplishes these goals, and I thank you.
We all thank you.
